Wednesday, October 29, 2008

The sweet thing about the Halloween costume for the baby is how it got finished.

We were getting ready to go to a party this morning with Youngest'shome school group. Baby Lily was coming with us and I was trying to finish up her outfit but was running out of time. Uncle Youngest, wearing his "Terminator" costume, sat on the couch and patiently sewed pearl beads onto the baby's T-shirt. Wish I had a picture of that : )

Ummm. So anyway. He's built big. And now he can't exercise. And his family has a history of heart disease. I'm a little concerned.

Since his health is on my mind and the prospect of appearing in wedding photos scares the Beelzebub out of me, I've decided we're doing something about this. Right now. Today.

I have declared that hubby shall take up lap swimming. He has declared I can kiss his ass.

I have also decreed that we will both join Weight Watchers On-Line. In fact, I signed us both up today.

But I'm having a bit of trouble with it. Already.

I signed hubby up for the Core Plan option and me for the Flex Plan option. My problem is that I can't find a straightforward list for hubby outlining what food is allowed and I can't find a list for me detailing how many POINTS! common foods have.

There is a "table" for hubby's food, but it's a series of icons that need to be clicked on individually to show that category's acceptable food. [Side note: why is Canadian bacon listed under cereals and grains? WTH?]

Long story short: the site is set up to disallow simple printing or copying and pasting.

With both of our options, we are expected to eat something, plug it into the food calculator and see whether it falls within the limits. This makes very little sense to me.

I do, however, like the Activity Calculator. You enter an activity (say, walking,) the length of time (let's try 20 minutes,) the intensity, (I'm going with low since I was intently listening to my iPod . . . ) and it tells you how many POINTS! said activity is good for (1.)

I plugged in the coordinates for a 30 minute, intense elliptical workout--5 POINTS!Woot!

And then I got to thinking . . .

Turns out that moderately intense sex for 10 minutes is worth, count 'em, 3 POINTS! Brace yourself, hubby--I have a Coke to work off.

Monday, October 13, 2008

I went to Party City today to pick up a latex "appliance," as the box reads, for Youngest's 'Terminator' Halloween costume.

They had the perfect item for his costume, but nonetheless, I hate going to Party City in October. Because every time I do, it's a guarantee that I'll see insensitive, freaking stupid ass parents with frightened small children.

A couple years ago I saw a mom with a 4 or 5 year old child who did not want to walk down the aisle where the scariest costumes were. "Oh come on," the mother chided.

Stupid damn mother.

Today a little girl pulled away from mom's hand as mom began to walk through the aisles. "Why don't you want to look at costumes?" the mother asked, clearly befuddled--not an idea in her squishy head as to what the problem could be. "Because it's scary," the girl answered timidly. "Oh, no it isn't!" mother insisted. "Look, there's Freddy and Jason and . . . " she rattled off horror movie characters as though that would comfort a kindergartner!!!!Idiot.

That scene was followed by a boy--no more than 2, maybe 2 1/2--in his dad's arms turning away from what must be shocking sights and whimpering. Dad chuckled. Chuckled!!! As though there was anything even remotely funny about putting terrifying thoughts into his child's head.

Retard.

Of course these little ones are afraid. Those masks with the gore and disfigured faces hanging next to bloody stumps of dismembered body parts are scary. Horrifying to someone small without much experience or perspective to draw from.

And they should be scary. Tender children shouldn't be so jaded that they can handle nightmare images without concern.

Freaking dumb ass parents.

Yeah. I'm completely judgemental on this subject. I won't even attempt to be diplomatic, understanding or unbiased.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Baby Lily is 10 days old now and because her daddy has been gone for work and Beautiful's roommate accidentally burned the porch off her house while she was in the hospital and then decided it was best if he moved out and Beautiful lives in a bit of a sketchy neighborhood and doesn't like to be there alone, I've been staying with her. A lot. Much to Youngest's dismay.

Today Youngest and I had a chance to go school shopping together.

Yeah, I know. You don't have to tell me that we're well into October and I'm a bit late for school shopping. You don't have to tell me because Youngest has already mentioned it. A lot.

Youngest is 13 now and has some definite ideas about his clothing. He's not too cool yet to be offended at the idea of shopping with his mother, but I have much less sway over what he wears than I used to.

If left entirely to his own, he would wear these. All. The. Time . . .

Shoes are important. Only board shoes or work boots are considered acceptable to the discerning 13 year old boy. Other shoes just aren't cool. Who can argue with that logic?

He's equally choosy about style and color combinations of socks and underwear. He has his reasons. And they're convincing. And I don't argue.

"I will not wear pre-distressed jeans." He informs me. Emphatically.

"Oh? Why is that?" I ask. Naively.

"They're for city boys." He answers. Emphatically.

"Ummmm . . . how do you mean?"

"City boys," he sighs with disgust, "they're not outside working on stuff that gets their jeans dirty and torn. They have to buy them that way. It's fake. I am not a city boy."

I see.

"What about this?" I ask, pointing out what I thought was a hip, non "city boy" jacket. Naively.

"No, Mom," he answers. Emphatically.

"Why not? Just try it on--humor me."

"Mom," he takes the lecturing tone, "it's too fashion-y. I wouldn't be seen in that. No."

All righty then.

He settled on 2 pair of pants and a shirt that fit his stringent criteria. Nobody will ever mistake my son for a city boy, for a boy concerned with fashion or for anything remotely metro.

As long as he's happy.

And not wearing the Carharts . . .

In other news--Lily finally met her daddy tonight. It was a sweet reunion and I left them alone very quickly after he arrived. No pictures of that event. It can wait : )

But these pictures--these are just too cute and must be shared immediately!

What sick, twisted bastard would design a baby wipe box with wipes that are perforated and require two hands to tear each wipe free when it's 3:30 in the morning and I can't even see let alone change a poopy diaper and keep her feet out of it and comfort her????

Oh . . . wait . . . is that an opening in the lid allowing me to pull one wipe out at a time one handed?